


no such thing as bad publicity

by Ireliss



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Erik Lehnsherr, Paparazzi, Protective Erik, Publicity, Smitten Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21918499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireliss/pseuds/Ireliss
Summary: Several months ago, Charles Xavier and his twenty mutant students were kicked out into the streets after the Xavier mansion was seized by Sebastian Shaw to settle an old debt. At the same time, Erik Lehnsherr, founder and CEO of Lehnsherr Steel was embroiled in a publicity scandal that resulted in a backlash against his business. In an attempt to repair his reputation, Erik charitably opened his penthouse duplex to Xavier and his children. The kids are loud and hyperactive, and Xavier too damnkindand earnest and hopeful, but eventually they settled into an uneasy peace.Now, months later, the publication of a provocative magazine article threatens to throw everything into chaos once more...
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 29
Kudos: 193
Collections: Secret Mutant Madness 2019





	no such thing as bad publicity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Charles quits his successful tenure as a Professor in Oxford and returns to his family home in Westchester to open a school for mutants, a safe place where they can learn to accept their powers. Charles puts every last penny he has saved into opening the 'Xavier's School of Gifted Youngsters'. The school is a roaring success and becomes a safe haven to more than 20 children within the first year.
> 
> But it so happens that Sebastian Shaw has also been eyeing on that property for quite some now.
> 
> One day the State presents a notice to Charles to vacate the house in two days and that the Xavier Mansion now belongs to Sebastian Shaw as a settlement of an old debt Brain Xavier owed him.
> 
> 2 days later Charles and his kids are pushed to the streets. The school and house is all he had, and with it gone, Charles is helpless and furious.
> 
> Meanwhile, Erik Lehnsherr, founder and CEO of Lehnsherr Steel finds himself in a sticky situation when he gets into a fight with journalists on National television. Normally, Erik wouldn't care about what the People are saying about him, but the negative backlash has been hampering his business, so his Personal Assistant, Emma comes with the perfect idea to rectify the situation with the PR and bring down Erik's old business rival, Shaw.
> 
> Emma convinces Erik to open the doors of his duplex penthouse to Charles Xavier and his 20 kids. 
> 
> The media is all too happy to project the altruistic side of Erik Magnus Lehnsherr and how he reached out to those in times of need. It's a totally different case at his house though. The kids hate him, and it sits all too well with Erik, because he hates them in return. But then there's also the situation with their guardian and extremely infuriating with his internationalist ideals, naive Professor, Charles Xavier.
> 
> The sooner they learn that it's best for them to work as a team to bring down Shaw, the better. And if Charles and Erik develop feelings for each other during that, well, what can be done?

“Erik, have you seen this?”

After so many weeks, the sound of that crisp British accent should be familiar by now, but for some reason Erik finds his heart doing a funny little flip every time he hears Charles’ voice these days. He ignores it, making a show of slowly putting down his work and looking at Charles, expression schooled into a look of unimpressed neutrality.

Charles is at the doorway, a slump to the set of his shoulders. Still, he moves with his usual confidence as he steps forward and drops a magazine of some sort onto Erik’s desk. Up close, Charles looks _off,_ his usually rosy cheeks pale and drawn, the spark of light in his blue eyes dimmed. Erik frowns.

“Sit down,” he says brusquely, not even looking at the magazine. “You look like you need a drink.”

Charles lets out a soft, rueful chuckle. “That bad?”

“Yeah.” Erik gets to his feet, crossing the room in long strides to pour a drink for each of them. After a moment’s thought, he adds an extra dash to both their glasses. “You were with the lawyers again today, weren’t you? Disputing Shaw’s claim over your estate?”

Charles takes his drink with a quick word of thanks and takes a long gulp before he replies. “I was, yes, but as you might have guessed, it’s not going terribly well.” He shakes his head. “But let’s talk about it later. You still haven’t looked at what I brought you.”

“What, a gossip rag?” Erik returns to his seat, glancing dismissively at the magazine.

He freezes.

It’s a photo of himself on the cover – of himself and _Charles._ They’re at a seaside café, and the salt-sweet breeze is tousling at Charles’ hair, flecks of light reflecting off the waves to dance on his cheeks. Charles’ eyes are closed, and he wears a smile that makes him look even younger than usual. Erik is sitting across from him, and there’s a look of unguarded interest in his eyes, his lip upturned in a small, but honest smile. Erik remembers that day. It had been an afternoon meal Emma staged for PR purposes several weeks ago, but he had ended up talking with Charles for so long that he had been late to his next meeting. It was a conversation about mutant education, from what he recalls; Charles had made such an unexpectedly _scathing_ comment about that useless baseline Secretary of Education that it had startled a laugh out of Erik.

The headline sprawling garishly across the cover screams: **THE TAMING OF THE SHARK: HAS ERIK LEHNSHERR MET HIS MATCH AT LAST?**

“What,” says Erik flatly.

Charles takes another long drink. “Just. Take a look.”

Erik flicks the magazine open to the feature spread. His eyebrows draw together sharply. There’s some text (all sensational drivel, from a quick glance), but what draws Erik’s attention is the photographs splashed liberally across the pages.

The first: a picture of the two of them glaring at each other. They’re both in suits, Erik’s dove grey, Charles in sleek navy blue. In this frozen snapshot of time, Charles had taken a step towards Erik, crowding into his personal space, jaw set with determination and hands clenched at his sides. He stares at Erik like he’s the only person in the world, and Erik’s expression is no less intense.

Erik remembers the moment. It had been shortly after Charles had moved into his penthouse; Emma had suggested they attend a charity gala together for the PR. Up until then, Charles had been a creature of sparkling eyes and endless chatter, the gestures of his hands every bit as animated as the thousand different shades of smiles he wears. How could someone kicked out into the streets still be so damn _hopeful?_ How could Charles still speak of integration, of helping his mutant children thrive, how could he still be brimming over with ideas and vitality and charm? It boggled the mind.

Everything came to a head during that party. Erik had one too many to drink and the memories are fuzzy now, but he vaguely recalls slinging around phrases like “naïve fool”, “telepathy is wasted on you, Charles”, and perhaps most damningly of all, “you’re going to get you and your precious students killed”.

And Charles… That was the first time he had seen a side of Charles that was not earnest charisma. Instead, Charles had _blazed,_ passionate and forceful and intense, and how dare he have looked at Erik with so much _belief_ and say things like “you should have more faith in your fellow mutants, my friend”?

Vaguely troubled by the memory, Erik continues to look through the feature article on the two of them. The next few photographs are all candids: a picture of the two of them playing chess at the park, a snap of them at an event somewhere with Charles fixing Erik’s tie while Erik leans down and forward slightly to give him better access, a photo of them talking – and Erik can’t take his eyes off Charles’ mouth in that photograph, the lush red curve of his lips quirking into a small smile, private and intimate, just for the two of them.

…Has he really spent so much time with Charles lately without realizing? Has he always stood so close to Charles, barely an inch of space between the two of them? Has he always looked at Charles with such absolute focus?

Erik’s gaze drops to the last photograph on the page. They’re at a terrace, and behind them is a peaceful green lawn, a satellite dish rising up proudly in the distance. In the photograph, Charles is walking away from him, almost off frame. The Erik in the photograph is staring at him, and on his face is an expression Erik hadn’t realized he was capable of. His eyes are wide, and his expression entirely soft and open. He looks awed.

It’s a moment Erik recalls with perfect clarity. See, Erik has a reputation, one he’s proud of. _Uncompromising,_ the newspapers call him. The tabloids put it in another way – “ _one_ _ruthless and cold-hearted son of a bitch”_ is a quote paraded around often _._ Then there are the anti-mutant extremist groups, the ones that like to call him a radical and a terrorist and _he’s going to bring America’s skyscrapers crashing down around our ears unless we act NOW._

In short, Erik knows what he is. Vicious. A fighter. A destroyer.

Charles, though, Charles had seen something different. That day on the terrace, when Erik had confessed that he’s not doing enough, that his business in steel will never be enough to help mutantkind the way he wants, Charles had said nothing for a long moment.

Then he took Erik’s hand, and _smiled._ “You’ve already done so much more than you know.” Charles’ eyes gleam the exact same shade of blue as the summer sky, bright with emotion. “You opened your house to me and my students, even though you hate children and you hate my ideals. You gave us a home, Erik, do you know how much that means to us? And you do so much more than that every single day, employing mutants, funding mutant scholarships and mutant programs, giving mutants work to do that they can be proud of. And your work with steel! Don’t you know how much influence you have on infrastructure and the manufacturing industries? You’ve planted so many seeds for our future. Your work will flourish far, far beyond both of our lifetimes, my friend.”

Erik had no idea how to respond.

He still doesn’t.

“…Erik?”

In the present, Charles is watching him, fiddling with the glass in his hands. Erik blinks, pulling himself away from his reminiscences and back to the article in front of him. A swift scan of the writing reveals what he had suspected; it’s nothing more than cheap, tawdry speculation, insubstantial and absolutely _ridiculous_ claims about how _“the sizzling chemistry evident between Lehnsherr and Xavier from the start”_ had morphed into _“the most unexpected romance of the century, stay tuned to learn more in the next edition!”_

“I’ll kill them,” Erik snarls. How dare they. Those moments were _private –_ how could they do this to Charles, how could they stalk Charles like this, after all he had been through already?

Charles is still fiddling with his glass. “Much as I appreciate the sentiment, that will just keep you in the public eye for longer. I am so, so sorry, my friend. It was never my intention to bring trouble to your doorstep.”

Erik waves him off. “You need to stop apologising for crimes committed by other people.” He’s still seeing red, but Charles’ voice helps keep him centred. “I’ll get my lawyers on this, I won’t let them get away with it.”

“They already have,” Charles looks weary. “You know that the law doesn’t stop the paparazzi, and neither should it – the protection of free speech is far too important–”

“ _Free speech?”_ Erik snorts. “Lies and gossip, that’s all this is. I’ll get them for something. Invasion of privacy, trespassing, defamation, there must be something…”

There’s a strange, shuttered look on Charles’ face, but he takes another long swallow of his drink and Erik finds his eyes tracking the pale curve of Charles’ neck. By the time Charles looks at him again, that unidentifiable expression is gone. “They won’t know what hit them,” he says affably.

“Good. I’ll give my legal team a call. Are we still on for chess tonight?”

Charles blinks. “I thought you might want to keep your distance for a while. Give them less fuel for the fire.”

“What?” An odd pang reverberates through Erik’s chest. “You’re going to roll over and let them win?”

A terse edge creeps into Charles’ voice. “I’m not _letting them win._ This is a delicate situation and I refuse to cause more trouble for you when I’m a guest under your roof and my students are dependent on your hospitality.”

“You’re _not_ trouble,” Erik says firmly, and Charles blinks again, eyes widening. Then he chuckles, self-deprecating, but smiling.

“Now, we both know that isn’t true.”

“Fine. Then you can repay me for the trouble with a game of chess.”

***

Erik means to throw the magazine away. No, that’s not strictly true, he planned to _shred_ the thing then incinerate it and flush the ashes down the toilet, but the idea is the same. He’s going to get rid of that wad of rubbish and good riddance.

But somehow, he never gets around to it. The magazine sits on his desk, staring at him accusingly, and every so often Erik finds himself picking it up to stare at the photographs of Charles.

Four days after the publication of that nonsensical drivel, his lawyers still haven’t made any headway in the case. When he complains to Charles, Charles doesn’t seem particularly concerned. “It may be more worthwhile to focus your efforts somewhere else,” is all he says. “Celebrities have been waging legal battles against the paparazzi for millennia, and none of them have had much luck turning the tide yet.”

“You need to stop giving up so quickly,” Erik snaps at him, because how can Charles not see he’s worth so much more than being the subject of idle gossip and invasive photographs taken from the shadows? “I hope you’re putting more effort into your battle against Shaw, or you might as well take the deed and keys to the Westchester estate and send them to him in a gift basket.”

Erik regrets it immediately, but the damage had been done.

There’s a short press conference the next day. As he’s leaving, one of the damn paparazzi vultures, bolder than the rest, squawks: “Is there any truth to the rumours that there’s a relationship between yourself and the disgraced mutant activist Charles Xavier? Have you forced him into a relationship in return for providing him with shelter?”

Fury crashes through Erik. Ignoring Emma’s restraining hand, he snatches the pap’s microphone with his powers. “Charles Xavier is a better man than you will ever be,” he growls, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, the mic crackling with static feedback from the force of his anger. “And he’s a naïve, monumental _fool_ to put up with this sort of treatment from your kind. If you think I’d _take advantage_ of him, you’re sorely mistaken.”

With a sinking feeling, Erik realizes that rather than being cowed, the paparazzi looks delighted by his comments.

Then he’s blinded by the flash of twenty cameras going off in his face simultaneously.

Charles doesn’t show up for their nightly game of chess.

***

The next evening, as Erik is settling down to work well into the night, a chilly voice slides into his mind. _Charles is back from the lawyers. Stop hiding in your office and go talk to him._

_I’m busy, Emma._

_Sugar, I’m your PA. I know you’re just making up excuses to avoid talking to Charles. Look, I’ve had fun watching the two of you dance around each other, but enough is enough._

_Last time I checked, I didn’t hire you to meddle in my personal affairs._

_It’s not personal anymore when it spills out into live national television. Do you know how many hours I’ve already spent dealing with that PR disaster from yesterday? Talk to him, Erik. Or you’ll find my resignation on your desk first thing tomorrow morning._

_You wouldn’t._

The only response he gets is a cold blast of amusement – a threatening one. Then Emma severs the connection between the two of them. Alone once more, Erik stares at the stack of paperwork in front of him. Then he looks out the window, towards the direction of home – of Charles.

In the end, Erik goes. If only because he’s invested in Charles’ legal battle against Shaw.

Back at the penthouse duplex, he hesitates in front of Charles’ door, but only for a second. Then he reaches for the doorbell before snatching his hand back. Ringing the doorbell means making noise, means attracting the very unwelcome attention of Charles’ brood, all twenty of them.

He tries to send his thoughts out instead. _Charles? Charles, are you there?_

For a long second, Erik thought he won’t get a reply, but then Charles’ voice appears in his mind. _Good evening, Erik. What do you need?_

_Thought we should have a talk about how the situation with Shaw is going. Why don’t you come to my study? You might finally get some peace and quiet there without your students underfoot._

Charles is quiet, thinking, but his mental presence feels closed-off in a way that makes Erik uneasy. He adds: _I have the chessboard set up._

_…I’ll be there in twenty, I’m in the middle of helping Kurt with homework._

_Fine._

Twenty-three minutes later, when Charles steps into the study, Erik is lounging in his usual seat as if he hadn’t spent the last five minutes pacing around the room, tracking Charles’ location by the metal watch he wears. Charles arches an eyebrow at him. Erik keeps his face an emotionless mask and reminds himself that Charles has his ridiculous _morals_ and he never goes beyond surface thoughts unless invited, so as long as Erik can keep his mind calm, _calm your mind–_

“You’re rather worked up tonight,” Charles observes as he settles into his seat, the tip of one finger tapping thoughtfully against his lips. Erik wrenches his gaze away, staring at the chessboard.

“Long day,” he says gruffly.

Some of the aloofness around Charles cracks and thaws. In an instant, the room is filled with the warmth of his concern as he leans forward, looking earnestly at Erik. “Was it the paparazzi again? I’m sorry, I should apologize again, I never meant for our friendship to–”

“How many times do I have to tell you? You did nothing wrong.” He wishes Charles would stop apologizing; Erik can’t shake off the uneasy feeling that Charles will soon decide it’ll be better for both their sakes if they stop associating with each other. Not that there’s any reason Erik should feel uneasy at that. Wouldn’t it be better for him to have Charles and his troublesome brood gone?

Well, no. That would mean the humans had divided and conquered them. It would mean the humans had _won,_ and that’s entirely unacceptable.

So, he has to make sure Charles stays.

Charles is looking at him. He’s frowning a little, nibbling at his lower lip in that ridiculously appealing way of his. “Sometimes you confuse me.”

“I could say the same.” Erik breathes out slowly. “Look. I’m sorry.” Apologies don’t come easily to him, but when he thinks about Charles’ warmth, his earnest chattering charm, his genuine _care_ for Erik… “I went over the line yesterday, at the press conference. Said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“But nothing you didn’t mean.” Charles is smiling, still, but it’s a smile Erik has never seen on his face before, something glassy and brittle. “It’s fine, Erik. I know we have our differences of opinion. I thought you respected me despite that, but I must have misread you and I am truly, deeply sorry if I subjected you to any attentions you were uncomfortable with.”

What the _fuck?_

He can only stare at Charles because how can a _telepath_ be this wrong? Charles looks equally confused in return, a small frown creasing his forehead. Then he blanches. “Wait. I think… Did I misread you just now?”

“Leave it, Charles.” This conversation is getting too awkward by half; Erik has never done that well with emotion. One thing is for certain though: whatever it is he feels for Charles, it’s certainly _not_ disdain or disrespect. Erik balls up that knowledge and shoves it roughly at Charles, who receives it with wide eyes followed by a startled, honest laugh.

The tension between them eases, and Charles nudges a pawn forward in the opening move of the game. Erik moves his own piece, and they move briskly through the first few rounds. As they play, Erik studies Charles, comparing him to the Charles of the photographs, and is startled to realize that Charles had lost weight over these past few months. Although he’s still wrapped up in layers of thick woollen sweaters and cardigans, some of the softness had disappeared from his face, and there are dark shadows smudged under his tired eyes.

“Things really aren’t going well with Shaw, are they.”

Charles doesn’t look up from the board, the frown returning to his face. “Not even remotely.”

“Talk to me. What’s been happening?” He moves his knight out of danger, not looking away from Charles’ face.

Charles hesitates, as if wondering whether to explain – does he not trust Erik? – but then the words leave him a rush. “You know we’ve been starting to find evidence of wrongdoing. Forgeries, bribery, threats, all that and more. We’ll have to start pulling in expert witnesses soon, and it’s likely the case will be dragged out for months, if not years.”

“So?”

“I can’t possibly impose on you for all that time, you’ve done so much for us already, it would be unconscionable for me to take advantage.”

Ridiculous. Dropping his chess piece back on the board, Erik ignores the game completely and gives Charles the full force of his attention. “You must have had plenty of children show up at your doorstep,” he says, picking his words carefully. “Runaways and orphans and foundlings. Children who need you. You’ve never once turned them away, have you?” He waits for Charles to give a shake of his head. “Then you should understand the way I feel. I’ll never turn you and your students out into the streets. You deserve so much better than that.”

Charles, for once, seems at a loss for words. Erik takes it as a minor victory and flashes him a smirk.

“You don’t even like children,” Charles finally says, still looking stunned.

Erik shrugs. “I don’t. Doesn’t mean I’d kick them out. You have a home here for as long as you need it, and that’s a promise.”

He might have not made that same promise months ago, when he had opened the doors of the penthouse duplex with extreme reluctance. But now that the children are here, they need stability. Erik won’t upset the fragile peace Charles has been building for his brood, and he certainly won’t heartlessly force them into the streets with only the clothes on their backs as Shaw had done.

If anything, the thought is enough to make his blood boil. “Anything else on your mind?” He asks, before he goes off on another thirty-minute tirade on Shaw.

Charles toys restlessly with a discarded chess piece again, then huffs out a low sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “God, this is ridiculous, but it’s that damn magazine again, you know the one.”

Erik thinks, guiltily, of his own copy of the magazine, tucked away inconspicuously into one corner of his desk, hidden by a stack of papers. “Has somebody been hounding you about it?”

“Well yes, but – Oh, sit _down,_ Erik, you look like you’re about to kill someone!” Charles gives him an exasperated look. “Not everyone’s been asking me about it out loud, but I can tell they’re all thinking about it.” He taps his temple, then frowns at Erik severely. “And that was before your stunt at the press conference yesterday. Now none of them are sure what to think.”

Erik scowls. “Good. It’s not any of their business.”

“Shaw’s lawyers don’t agree. They’re trying to stall.”

“What?”

“We both know I’m in a delicate situation, yes? My family lawyers are involved in the case against Shaw, but the bulk of the legal team _and_ their funding comes directly from your personal accounts. Shaw’s team also knows that.” Charles waits for Erik to nod before continuing. “Well, after your statement at the press conference yesterday, they’re under the impression that you’re humiliated by the article and starting to have second thoughts about your continued association with me. More importantly for our purposes–” Charles continues, smoothly speaking out over Erik’s objections, “–they think you’re likely to withdraw your support at any second. Essentially, they’re trying to stall me out, delaying the proceedings until I no longer have any resources left to contest the debt. Then they’ll take everything once and for all.”

Fury thrums through Erik. “We won’t let that happen.”

Charles gives him a small smile. “No, no we won’t. But that still doesn’t solve our current dilemma. So long as they believe we’re divided, I’ll be at a disadvantage during the negotiations.”

Erik groans. Loudly. That _fucking_ press conference; he should just let Emma handle all of them from now on.

“I don’t think Emma would appreciate that,” Charles says absently, looking at the board again.

“It might give her less work in the long run,” Erik grumbles, and Charles makes a sympathetic noise.

“She did sound busy when I spoke with her today.”

“Yeah, well, apparently they’re quoting me everywhere out of context.” Never mind that he openly declared Charles Xavier was better than all of them, never mind that he said he would never take advantage of Charles (because Charles deserves so much more) – no, the media is only interested in the fact Erik had called Charles “ _a naïve, monumental fool”_ (again, out of context), and the more sensationalist pieces even went so far as to say, what was it, _“Erik Lehnsherr ruthlessly crushes the heart of the already-disgraced Charles Xavier; claims he would never sleep with Xavier in a million years!”_

Which. What the fuck. Did they lose their eyes as well as their common sense?

Erik forcibly wrenches his thoughts away from that rabbit hole. “Emma’s been on my case the whole day,” he grouses. “She seems to think that all the public goodwill I earned by taking you and your brats in got erased because of yesterday.”

“You have another major business deal coming through, don’t you?” Charles is frowning. “Will the bad press affect it?”

Erik shrugs. “Probably. But we’ll survive.”

“Still, it’s a right shame, especially when all their speculation is completely wrong.” There’s a flash of red as Charles’ tongue darts out, swiping slowly against his lower lip as he thinks. “If only there’s something we can do… This is a misunderstanding, one that we can surely fix. Maybe we should consider putting out a statement.”

“Something like that would just give them more room to interrogate us, to attack us. You _know_ how the tabloids are. Piranhas, the lot of them.”

“It would have to be a very unambiguous statement, then. A very strong one, too.”

“Like what?”

Charles does that thing with his tongue again. Erik’s eye twitches and he looks back at the board again, moving his rook forward to take one of Charles’ pawns. They play in silence for a few rounds, and then Charles suddenly says:

“Look, I’ve been thinking… Do excuse me if I’m completely off the mark, but the contents of that magazine – the story they were trying to sell, that wasn’t completely repugnant to you, yes?”

Charles has an annoying habit of talking in circles when he’s nervous. Erik frowns. “What, that thing about us dating?” He has no idea why his pulse has suddenly spiked up; anger at that tripe, he’d bet, anger at that gross invasion of Charles’ privacy.

“I was just thinking,” Charles says again, slower this time, but he betrays his nervousness with the way he fiddles with his chess piece and strokes his thumb across the round dome of its head again and again. “It’s in our best interests to present a united front. As distasteful as the that article was, it gives us a plausible – not to mention a very convenient – cover.”

Is he seriously proposing…? “Get to the point.”

“You know what I mean, Erik! Can you think of a better way to show everyone that we’re united in our goals?”

_He’s serious._ Erik stares at him. “You want us to pretend we’re in a relationship.”

Charles flushes, twin spots of colour high on his cheeks. “I do realize it’s a lot to ask, and there are other ways if you’re uncom–”

“Charles.” Erik interrupts him before he can take the plan back. What is _wrong_ with his heart today, why can’t he seem to control this mix of excitement and nerves and tension? To cover up his uncertainty, he curls his lip back to give Charles his toothiest smirk. “I would be honoured to pretend to date you.”

…With a start, Erik realizes it’s true.

Charles looks surprised too, then pleased, then he’s smirking right back at Erik and arching an eyebrow in the most indecently impudent way. “I’m glad we got that settled, _darling._ ”

“Don’t make me break up with you,” Erik warns, trying to figure out the reason behind that strange curl of warmth blooming in his chest. He reaches out to move his knight, just to give his hands something to do.

“Already?” But Charles’ expression is warm and bright. “Well, before you go–“

He moves his queen forward, then directs a sly smile at Erik, one that makes Erik’s groin twitch with interest.

“– Checkmate.”


End file.
